Volume XII, No. 4

JUNE 2000

MAORI TREASURES AT AUCKLAND MUSEUM (New Zealand Backpackers News)

New Zealand's most important collection of Maori artefacts is open for all to see in Auckland.

He Taonga Maori is one of the major exhibitions at the Auckland War Memorial Museum, gaining the museum international recognition. There are over 2000 artefacts on display, many of them dating back to the arrival and settlement of Maori in New Zealand, and they are guaranteed to impress.

Two of the major displays at He Taonga Maori are the Hotunui meeting house and the Te Told a Tapiri war canoe, carved from a giant totara tree during the New Zealand Wars of last century. These structures are surrounded by ancient gateposts, palisade carvings and a host of everyday artefacts once used for living, hunting and fishing. It gives you an excellent idea of Maori life before the arrival of the Pakeha (European) settlers. There are also many rare and priceless carvings and artworks which were previously hidden in storage because of lack of display space, but thanks to recent renovations are now on show. Wood and stone carvings, fibre work and tattooing displays show how skilful the early Maori were.

One of the masterpieces is an elaborate gate lintel from Lake Tangonge, near Kaitaia. It is believed to date from the 12th to 14th centuries, making it the earliest surviving Maori carving in the world.

On the same floor in the museum are the world renowned Polynesian displays. The jewelry, weaving, masks, ceremonial items, rare tapa cloth, statues and cloaks are among, the most unique and beautiful you will see anywhere.

For more information phone the Auckland Museum on 09 309 0443.

(Get your information-packed free copy of New Zealand Backpackers News: 50 Somme Street, St. Albans, Christchurch, NZ

E-mail: info@backpackersnews.co.nz)

TARANAIU COAST BOASTS

MANY LEGENDS

If you've ever braved the outer limits of the Tasman Sea off the North Island's West Coast, you may well have come across an almost mythical character by the name of Dave Chadfield, or "Happy Chaddy" to his thousands of close personal friends.

If you haven't met the man himself you may have heard of some of his more exciting moments.

Like the time a cowardly 25 foot Great White Shark decided to bite the stern-leg off the back of his boat and sink him rather than take him on face to face.

Or the time Chaddy had to hand bail his sinking fishing boat for six hours non-stop before the crippled vessel was finally rescued.

Without a doubt this man is the stuff of a Hemingway novel or two and if you talk to just about anyone who loves life on the high seas they'll tip their hat to the infamous exploits of the legendary Chaddy.

But these days he is more well known for his acts of hospitality than heroics.

Ten years ago Chaddy advertised a guided trip to take people out to observe the local seal population off the Moturoa and the Sugar Loaf Islands (also known as Nga Motu) that make up part of New Plymouth's marine park. To his surprise and delight the first journey attracted over 100 takers and so was born the beginning of a life-long dream: Happy Chaddy's Charters.

Things have moved on a bit since then. Now Chaddy can still take you to see the seals in his prized British Bridlington Life-boat "Rescue 3". Or fishing for everything from Snapper to Albacore Tuna.

He can also tell you everything you'd ever want to know about our unique coastal environment, lecture you on the importance of marine conservation and teach you the difference between a half-hitch and a bowline. If you're keen, he'll teach you enough seamanship to prepare you for a lifetime on the ocean.

In fact, things have moved on to the point where Happy Chaddy's Charters won the 1995 Taranaki Tourism award and recently Chaddy was bestowed with the "New Zealand Coastguard Safety and Services" top award. No mean feat tbr a man who "only went to school to eat the other buggers' lunches."

So when you come to New Plymouth, whether you have salt in your veins or not, a cruise with Chaddy is just one of the unique ways you can enjoy the many kilometres of coastline that offer some of the best fishing, surfing, windsurfing and picnicking anywhere in the world.

If it's a new experience you're looking for, come to life. Come to New Plymouth. For more information just call the New Plymouth Information Centre on 0800 80 90 50 and ask for your free copy of "The New Plymouth Holiday Pack" or visit us on the internet at www.newplymouthnz.com

NOCTURNAL PARK

& RECREATION VILLAGE

By day enjoy a scenic walk through natural bush which surrounds a meandering stream and unusual rock formations. Along the trail, many plaques describe the various trees and plants and the uses to which they were put by Maori and European settlers.

Observe kiwis, seldom seen in their natural habitat, in the undisturbed night-like environment of the Nocturnal House, glowworms in a spectacular grotto above the stream, and eels busy working in the stream. By night — enjoy our smorgasboard in the lake- view restaurant and a guided walk takes you into the fascinating night world of New Zealand, where you see an extensive and dramatic display of glowworms along the bushwalk.

We invite you to make use of our modern facilities:

• Lake-view restaurant

• Accommodation (breakfast available)

• Camping fround with barbecue facilities

• Lakeside picnic areas

• Horse treks

• Kayaks (free for customers)

Open every day from l0am, closed after night tour.

Night tour starts at dark.

Adults - $10.00; children under 12 - $3.00; Seniors - $8.00; family ticket - $24.00 (2 adults & 2 children)

NOW IS THE HOUR.. . NEW ZEALAND MUSIC

(From New Zealand! New Zealand!

In Praise of Kiwiana)

If New Zealand can claim a music of its own, then it is probably the mixture of the country's two main, diverse traditions.

The first music heard in New Zealand was made by the Maori. They had few instruments and their inspiration was the sounds of nature. The results probably bore little similarity to "authentic" Maori music of today, but we will never know for sure. Captain Cook noted the precision of Maori singing in 1770. Three years later he demonstrated to a Maori audience a sample of European music, in the form of bagpipes, fife and drum. The latter attracted most atten- tion for the pre-European Maori had no such instrument. Neither did they possess strings, but for melodic purposes they had flutes. Trumpets were made from converted conch shells, or wood, as were bultroarers and children's novelty instruments. But perhaps the most distinctive feature of traditional Maori music is the use of the unaccompanied voice, a practice largely outmoded by the arrival of the guitar. The common form was the waiata, or song of love or lament, still retained for ceremonial occasions.

Waiata became the name of the 1981 album by New Zealand's most successful musical group to date, Split Enz, who thoughtfully re-entitled it Corroborree for the Australian market. But an earlier waiata was to become one of the best-known songs of all time. In about 1913 Maewa Kaihau and Clement Scott wrote the Maori lyrics for Po Ma Rau, which was translated into English and published in 1936. Gracie Fields then popularized it among the troops during the Second World War, and eventually Bing Crosby got to hear of it. His version of Now is the Hour became a million- seller in 1948.

The early European explorers may have introduced a little light music to New Zealand but it was the military who best promoted it. The first such concert was given in the Bay of Islands in 1845 by the band of the 58th Regiment, otherwise known as "the Black Cuffs". Then, in 1859, the Taranaki Volunteer Rifles formed the country's first volunteer brass band. To cater for the growing popularity of this type of music, national brass band championships were instituted, beginning at Christchurch in 1880. Another form that has always been popular in New Zealand is Scottish pipe band music. The country's first such band was the Caledonian, of Southland, formed in 1896, and today there are more of these bands per head of population here than there are in Scotland.

Early European settlers had to bring their own instruments. Gilbert Mair did so in 1827, and his 1740 Broadwood Square Grand piano—the country's oldest—is now in the Treaty House at Waitangi. But from 1861 musical New Zealanders were able to purchase their requirements from Charles Begg's new store in Dunedin. The business is still going, with the addition of Wiseman's, and has branches throughout the country.

The new settler in the antipodes was not altogether starved of European culture. Beginning about the turn of the century New Zealand received regular visits from such musical luminaries as Dame Nellie Melba (1903), Ignace Paderewski (1904), Dame Clara Butt (1908), the American bandleader John Philip Sousa (1911), the Irish tenor John McCormack (1913), the 150-strong Italian Grand Opera Company (1917), Anna Pavlova (1926), and 17-year-old Yehudi Menuhin in 1935.

In spite of such distinguished visitors, the most popular form of musical entertainment during the early 20th century was the musical comedy. These light-hearted and colourful presentations were as much a feature of colonial life as they were in England. The theme songs from The Geisha, The Merry Widow and Madame Butterfly, for example, were heard in the streets and their costumes influenced local fashion. This genre of entertainment made a household name of Gladys Moncrieff, who trod the boards between 1924 and 1961. During the course of her marathon career another variation on the musical comedy emerged. This had American rather than English origins, and made fortunes for such composers as George Gershwin, Jerome Kern, and Rogers and Hammerstein. Rose Marie, No No Nanette and The Student Prince were perennial favourites, but the giant of them all was The Desert Song, capitalising on the vogue for things Middle Eastern.

During the Second World War there was a sudden injection of contemporary American culture into New Zealand. The GIs brought their own music, introducing the South Pacific to swing bands and the art of jitter-bugging. But by the end of the 1940s the momentum was lost: the urgency of the "swing" had become diluted to a sentimental mush. Perhaps the musical pits were reached in 1953 when "I Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Claus" and "How Much is that Doggy in the Window" both hit the top, as it were.

All the while there was a new form of music and there was another force to be reckoned with—the first generation of so-called "teenagers", the legacy of the postwar baby boom. Their demand was for a sound to call their own, to set them apart from the blandness of their elders. This found a perfect expression in a combination of traditional negro blues and country and western music. With the addition of a no-nonsense beat, rock 'n' roll was born.

At first rock 'n' roll was the exclusive preserve of the young, but it has since been institutionalised. Its effectiveness as a communicator could not pass unnoticed by the advertising industry. Thus, some of rock's classic moments now promote Telecom's phones and exhort us to "Love Hertz". Even 1964 vintage Roiling Stones is not immune, except tnat whats "All Over Now" is a deodorant, not a relationship. We can only hope that, in the spirit of Split Enz, our musicians keep at least one step ahead of boring respectability.

SOUTHERN CROSS FLYFISHING

Although there are some rivers and lakes open to angling all year, the season proper opens the 1st of November and continues till the end of April. There are many rivers and lakes on the South Island, most of which are located in beautifully tranquil spots.

It would be misleading, though, to say the fishing is easy. Most of the fishing we do is "sight fishing," which means we try to locate a fish in the river before actually making a presentation. Some of these fish are large, but they are by no means stupid.

A good deal of skill, both in the casting department and the handling of hooked fish will be necessary if one wants to be successful here. Moreover, if you are the kind of angler that must catch fish in order to be happy, this might not be your cup of tea. Rarely do we catch heaps of fish; rather, the emphasis is on stalking large, wary fish, and it is in this challenge, amid nature's beauty, that I encourage anglers to find satisfaction. We release all fish that are caught.

We are based in Queenstown, a picturesque, lively town nestled in the mountains and perched on the shores of Lake Wakatipu. The town offers many restaurants, shops and a variety of activities for non-angling companions. We charge US$300 a day and will give discounts if booking 4 or more days.

My wife Angela is happy to teach fly fishing and casting skills to beginners. We provide lunch. We use the finest rods, equipment etc., but if you plan to bring a favorite rod, a 6 weight with a weight forward floating line will suffice for most situations. Don't worry about flies as we will supply these. Depending on when you come and the length of your stay, we will create an itinerary that gives you the most comprehensive taste of the region.

We use a small but rugged campervan for transportation which allows us to include float-tubes for fishing the tranquil lakes in the region and also provides comfortable amenities for non-fishing companions.

In the summer we rarely wear waders per Se. The outfit that provides the most comfort and freedom of movement is a pair of polypropylene leggings over which a pair of shorts are worn. Neoprene booties, socks and wading boots complete the outfit. Except for lake fishing, where one doesn't have to hike far, most of the rivers we fish do require a fair bit of hiking, and wearing conventional waders would be more of a hindrance than a help. Shirts, hats and raingear should be earth-tones; the idea is to blend into the forest not offer a contrast to it. Polarized glasses are a must.

Accommodation in Queenstown is wonderfully varied, with rates from US$100 per night for the opulent, to US$25 for the clean and tidy basic unit. There are hotels, motels, bed and breakfasts—you name it. It can probably be found in Queenstown.

Michael and Angela Bednar, SOUTHERN CROSS FLY- FISHING 36 Cedar Drive, Kelvin Heights, Queenstown, NZ. E-mail: bednar@es.co.nz Phone 64-3-442-8408. Fax 64-3-442- 8402. ("Time flies so fast after youth is past that we cannot accomplish one-half the many things we have in mind, or indeed one-half our duties. The only safe and sensible plan is to make other things give way to the essentials, and the first of these is flyfishing." by Theodore Gordon)

AUTUMN TRIP - Noeline McCaughan

This is the record of an interesting tour Jim and I made one autumn a couple of years ago. It covered the Easter period which is notorious for bad weather in this part of the world. We travelled south from Timaru on the South Island east coast, up the Waitaki River to Omarama and through the Lindis Pass, on to Lake Hawea, and up the Haast highway past Lake Wanaka and spent our first night at Makarora in the mountains.

The trip went well. We struck fantastically variable weather. There were strong nor' west winds at times while we were travelling down through

Central Otago which slowed us down somewhat as we were towing the caravan. There were red deer stags calling from the steep mountainsides in the evening, the sound echoing around the valley. The wind had gone down and so had the temperature. As darkness fell, a light rain began pattering down. Later we were treated to a great display of lightning and thunder which resounded around the peaks of the mountains.

During the night there was heavy rain along with violent thunderstorms and the temperature dropped steeply again. In the morning there was thick snow on the mountaintops down to the bushline and the air was really chilly. We travelled on in rain which turned to sleet and then snow as we headed over the Haast Pass—thick blobs of it plopping onto our wind-screen from the trees overhanging the road. Once we descended to the confluence of the Haast and Landsborough Rivers we only had the odd shower of rain to contend with and we could see patches of blue sky. The rivers were well up, filling the wide bed from side to side and each contributary was in spate. I had intended getting some video footage of the Imp Grotto, but the river at that point had swept right into the foot of the bank and under-bridge access was impossible. Besides, the light was so poor that I doubt it would have been worth it.

From there on the weather cleared somewhat and turned into an alternating succession of great high-piled clouds sweeping in off the Tasman Sea and beating up everything with great flashes of lightning, ear-cracking thunder and terrific downpours of unbelievably heavy rain which would then move off into the mountains and join the other wet black clouds numbing away like a convocation of discontented nuns, and brilliantly fine warm intervals of a couple of hours or so. This was the pattern the weather followed for the next ten days.

We weren't able to get down to the Cascade River; two pairs of idiots had blocked the narrow gravelled road by running their cars head on into each other on the crest of a rise about four miles up the Jackson River. We opted instead to walk in to Lake Ellery, lugging all our camera gear in with us over a very uneven, narrow, rocky track through the dense forest, only to find once again that light conditions were so abysmal for photography that we settled on just enjoying a family of ducks and watching the rain making large round bubbles on the water as it poured down. These light conditions dogged us in South Westland, so I am going to organise another trip sometime just to catch up on the photos. Although it was rather late in the season, we observed quite a lot of rata flowering in the bush and we heard quite a few bellbirds and tuis singing in spite of the weather.

It was eight years since our last trip to Haast and I was pleased to see they have got their act cleaned up a little as far as visitors to the area are concerned, although I found that their supermarket had a woefully small stock of anything and only a meagre choice at that. Their service lacked enthusiasm also—being the only apparent retail outlet, they were very much inclined to a "take it or leave it" attitude.

The DOC (Dept of Conservation) visitor centre is very good and we were impressed with the friendly reception we got from the staff there. They had a big fish tank with whitebait (native fish., Galaxias species) in it in the foyer and also a very good series of photographic displays of plants, birds and the geology of the area.

We stayed at the Haast Motor Camp which oddly enough is situated at Okuru about ilk south of me township. (At Haast township there is a back-packers and campervan park, so most of the straight-through tourists stop there). It was good, clean and quiet, plenty of hot water for showers and only a few others there. It is adjacent to the beach and normally we would have been off for a walk along it to acquaint ourselves with the area, but heavy seas were sweeping across it and up the Okuru River. Over the road from the campground was an area of native scrub and swamp backed by the great trees of the South Westland forests. This was also inaccessible owing to flooding of the walking tracks, so we satisfied ourselves with a walk along the road to the bridge and watched the river current and the tide battle things out. There is a fine interpretive walk available along good tracks and boardwalks through the forest, swamp and coastal vegetation to the beach when the weather is drier.

The sea was exceedingly rough with a heavy swell sending great rollers pounding up the sand. The mouth of the Haast (and all other rivers, too) was a virtual maelstrom of churning water and flying foam. Travelling on after a few days we stopped by Ship Creek just up the coast from Haast and videoed the seas sweeping across the spit and into the creek. Because it was full moon, the tides were extremely high and the upper beaches were three feet deep in diatomaceous foam which in some places was being washed into the undergrowth along the shores. The water of the creek was covered in foam from the sea and the wind was blowing it upstream as far as the main road bridge. We dodged the weather by parking the caravan beside the sheltering trees and flax bushes and having an early lunch whilst a passing shower poured down. We then decided that the beach walk was out and headed north.

The drive was pleasurable—little traffic and what there was behaved itself, the bush and mountains were as beautiful as ever, and the road passed through miles of tall virgin rainforest. The trees block out the sky and farms, and small trees grow densely between them and make any access to the forest virtually impossible to those on foot. Everything was so wet that if we hadn't had our boots I doubt we'd have got anywhere as the ground was just running with water. All the streams were running a "banker" which meant that a great many walks were out. At Bruce Bay we stopped and observed that the sea had thrown a lot of driftwood extremely high on the beaches. We weren't able to get onto the beach itself as the sea was running right up to the flax bushes above the shore.

However we did manage to visit both Fox and Franz Josef Glaciers each in their narrow gorged valleys. They had both advanced well past where they were when we last saw them in 1987. The approach to the Fox Glacier was rather' dodgy as there had been two large rockfalls into the valley. These had to be negotiated on foot before the ice could be reached. Rocks were still falling intermittently and it made for a hasty scramble across the extensive fan of debris. We were togged in raingear and boots and fared reasonably well as the area is not the warmest place to be. At that time of year (late autumn) the sun doesn't reach the valley floor until late in the day and the cold air dropping off the glacier sends a chilly wind down towards us.

Walking back to the car park we heard a faint call and looking up the beetling cliffs we saw a large flock of Kea (native mountain parrot) flying around the buttresses a couple of hundred feet up, the red flash of their underwings showing them up against the dark rocks. That was the only sighting we had of them on the trip. If ever a bird embodied the spirit of the mountains I think the Kea is the one.

Franz Josef was easier to approach,, as although the walk is longer, it is along a level valley floor, no formed track—you just walk along the gravel and sand and here and there pick your way between rocks. Both glacier faces are well roped off and there are plenty of warning signs posted. I am happy to say that this time we didn't see any of the displays of idiocy that we saw last time, when several visitors ignored the warning signs and stood right under the face of teetering ice and photographed each other as rocks and ice chunks skittered down from above. I would recommend for anyone visiting these areas to wear suitable footwear. The ground is rough and there are small unbridged streams to cross. Take a warm jacket, too.

The cold drifting down from several million tons of ice is VERY chilling.

I fossicked around and found some nice small rocks to stuff in my pockets to give to the grandchildren when I got home.

The rock climbing possibilities in this area are limitless, although one would have to choose carefully. It is an unnerving sensation to suddenly realise that the piece of terra firma one is shinnying up has become detached and is proceeding downwards at a faster rate than you are ascending.

The main road bridge across the Waiho River at Franz Josef township was fine. It just didn't have any approaches at the time—one of the periodic flash floods sweeping down the river having seen to that. We crossed on a well-anchored Bailey bridge. The north bank of the river has been severely eroded alongside the main roau and the historic little church is only a few metres from its edge. It will be difficult to stabilise the riverbank (which is about 20 feet high at this point), as the river itself is prone to sudden extreme floods which carry an enormous amount of glacial debris down-stream at the same time, washing away anything in its path. (Will be continued in September issue.)

(Reprinted with the author's permission. All rights reserved.)

SUPERIOR SKILLS SAIL KIWIS

AHEAD OF THE BIG GUYS

(from the Christian Science Monitor)

Since Team New Zealand recently successfully defended the oldest continuously contested trophy in sports, their 3.8 million countrymen and women have been proudly celebrating the America's Cup win as a national achievement.

Helen Clark, New Zealand prime minister, has made much of what she sees as the nationalistic dimension of the win. In addition to New Zealand whitewashing its international competition on the waves, Clark says, the victory demonstrates a "remarkable" ability to meet head-on the technological challenge of larger nations such as the US, Japan, France, and Italy.

Unlike the US, yachting Down Under has not until recently figured as a pursuit exclusively enjoyed by the members of wealthy racing syndicates.

Team New Zealand skipper Russell Coutts is a case in point: The youngest son of a working-class suburban family, his earliest years in the water were in a humble P-class dinghy built for him by his father, a building supervisor.

In season and out, some 32,000 registered members from 124 yachting clubs, along with unknown

numbers of unregistered users, take to the same choppy waters for pleasure, adventure, and what is, by local mythology, something akin to a rite of cultural passage.

John Davies, sports promoter and athletics coach, notes, "This is a country that's been colonized, if I can put it that way, by people coming from around the world and arriving by water—whether they be Polynesian or European."

For Davies, the accident of history cuts two ways. "It means that a majority of people here have the sea in their background. And it means the same people have certain personal qualities from this background—I mean, a desire to succeed at new things, a determination to beat the natural odds—which make sports in general, and yachting in particular, a natural challenge."

In the view of Pete Mazany. a business lecturer at the University of Auckland, New Zealand stands at a "critical juncture" in the development of its national identity and confidence, a point reinforced by its yachting conquests. "We have long struggled with the fact that we are small and far away from the rest of the world, and are finally starting to realize that small is beautiful, that small can be quick, smart, and strong."

Although the country's land mass looks modest enough—roughly the same size as the state of Colorado—the bulk of it is thinly spread, giving New Zealand 11,800 miles of coastline, nearly as much as that of the contiguous United States.

FIFTH—THEY'VE GOT TO BE JOKING! (NZ Herald)

The latte will be supped with more relish, the chardonnay sipped with more gusto, the people will become even more unbearable.

The inhabitants of Auckland have another reason to gloat over the rest, courtesy of an international survey on quality of life which ranks the place fifth on a list of cities around the world. The fact that the capital (Wellington)—while being a better place to live than New York or London—could only rank 27th in the top 40, will be of small solace to Wellingtonians.

How, one may ask, could Auckland rank level with Sydney and Geneva and ahead of Paris and San Francisco? They will be asking the same question in Wellington and Christchurch. In Paris and San Francisco, of course, they won't care.

The survey studied 218 cities and judged them according to a set of 39 criteria such as politics, culture, personal safety, and transport.

Aucklanders do not understand politics. They have no culture, unless it's a café culture. Personal safety is only slightly higher than on the West side of New York—and transport? The surveyors must be joking.

Although one heading was "environment", the friendliness—or otherwise—of the natives did not appear to be a factor. Those who live well away from the City of Sails may comment those in charge of the survey were unaware that you can always tell an Aucklander, but you can't tell him much.

There is, though, some good news for those in our other cities. They will be delighted to know their place is infinitely more pleasant to live in than Brazzaville, Belgrade or Baghdad.

OBSERVATIONS ON NEW ZEALAND

(By Doug Sassaman)

I'm an American. I'm an American living in New Zealand. I have lived here for 612 days. I've eaten kiwi fruit, seen kiwis, I have consumed enough lamb chops to stretch, chop to chop, from here to America. I've drunken a sufficient amount of local beer to fill the Pacific Basin, I have explored the far corners of this country, I've canoed the Wanganui, climbed Mount Maunganui, tramped across the Fox Glacier, almost drowned in the Tasman Sea, and dibbled my toes at Cathedral Cove. I've added a citizen, worked in the labor force, and complained about the taxes. I now say things like "Cheers", "G'Day", "Good on you", "Bugger", "Bloody Hell", "Pissed", and "Good as Gold". I have been infiltrated, compromised, decapitalized, and slightly—please don't tell my congressman—un-Americanized. BUT in my core, deep in the valves of my heart, I will always be an American, which is to say: I maintain the rights to complain about the lack of ice in my beverages and start sentences with the words, "If this were America."

I may never be at one with the pulse that runs beneath the green fields, or down country lanes. I may not be made of part beach, paddock, sea, and mirth, but I reckon I'm as close to the Kiwi consciousness as I'll ever be. My tourist garb has long since been lost in the corner of my bedroom, and I finally feel competent to go public with some personal observations about New Zealand. Mostly I just plain love this place, but when I peeled back the layers of cottony sheep and velvety grass I found a puddle of sour milk in this land of milk and honey.

***On Beer***: I had my first beer in the workplace ever on my third day on the job in New Zealand. I felt guilty, irresponsible, delighted.

There was a departmental get-together going on, for what reason I can't recall. I slung my arms over the chest-high cube wall, took a swig of my beer, and said to my co-worker, "If this was America, I'd be summarily dismissed right now", and he said, "Then thank God we're not in America, mate."

***You call that a pastry shop?***: I'm sorry, New Zealand, but you know those little bar-dessert-things that they serve in cafes, you know the ones I'm talking about. They're flat, dense, and made to last, well I've got news for you—those aren't desserts. Desserts are creamy, whippy, soft, and don't require immediate dental attention after you eat them. Those squares, slices, chews, or whatever you label them, were better left in England. And those buns with the pink icing on top, what's up with that? If you took a hunk of bread, put icing on top and turned it in for your final exam in cooking school, you wouldn't graduate pastry-guy. These oft-times desperate attempts at sweets take up valuable space in pastry shops, room that could be made for jelly donuts, cupcakes, and chocolate-filled croissants. Throw in a few twinkies under the display case and you're getting warmer.

***I love the lack of advanced weaponry***: I love the fact that if I T-bone someone when I'm driving on the road he won't pull out a gun and shoot me. Because in New Zealand there are no guns. Okay, there are some guns, like on farms and stuff, but there are no handguns, and certainly no 9mm Uzi's with laser scopes. Now that's not to say my T-bone victim couldn't pull out a big knife or samurai sword and charge after me, but hey, I'll take my chances.

***Hell must be like the Auckland motorway system***: What I find most amazing about the design of the Auckland motorways is that people with degrees behind their desks actually sat down and designed them. Who builds two motorways, one on top of the other and, doesn't link them together in any conceivable fashion? Have you ever tried to get from the Northern Motorway to the Northwestern? Good luck. If you're a tourist you get lost, simple as that, because there are no signs. Oh, there is one sign for the Northwestern that will lure you off the Northern motorway, and you'll follow it with confidence, but then you'll soon find that the Land Transport Authority has betrayed you, left you to wander downtown, sign-less and without hope. Have you ever tried to figure out what road you're on when you're lost? Have you ever wondered why when a road curves two degrees it gets a new name? Well I have. I've pondered all these things, and I have no answers for you.. .I doubt anyone does.

***Breasts on TV***: Oh the joys of living in a sexually liberated society. Condom and genital herpes ads are a common occurrence on TV and no one pickets, no one boycotts. Boobs appear on TV during a drama and nobody flinches. I still do. "Did you see that! Is this normal TV?!" I particularly like how Kiwis refer to significant others simply as partners. Husband, wife, homosexual lover, are all referred to as partners, and if you're gay, nobody gives a tinker's turd. When the Prime Minister rides on a float in the gay Hero Parade, you know you're living in an accepting society, and believe me, it is a good thing.

***My mailbox would be more useful as a bird-house***: and it's not just my mailbox, it's most of the mailboxes I've seen. Ours, like most, is a small box, with a slot in the front and a flap in the back. Here's a typical day's activity in our mailbox: our mail arrives in the morning uelivered by a smiling postal worker on a bike. She carefully inserts our letters through the slot, and anything larger than a postcard drops through the slot and onto the yard. Obviously the postal worker is so engaged in her duties she fails to notice this. The few letters that do manage to survive the plunge cling perilously to the edges of the mailbox. In the early afternoon, the first of many circulars (junk mail) arrives delivered by every manner of school kid with pierced heads and low-slung shorts that hang off fetid boxer shorts. Their method of delivery is one based entirely on speed and when the first circular of the day is jammed through the slot, the last few bits of mail drop out the back flap. It rains. We arrive home, carefully dry the day's mail, and like archeologists, set about deciphering the arcane ink markings. Sure I could have cobbled together a better mailbox, but please, I have better things to do than spend time making willy-nilly improvements to a rental home.

***The mystery of central heating***: I thought it a peculiar comment when a guy from Norway we met at a party back in the States said to us, "I've never been so cold as the winter I spent in New Zealand." When someone from Norway speaks of cold I lend him an ear, but New Zealand colder than Norway? I asked for clarification. "The homes aren't heated there. I froze all winter long." We moved to New Zealand in the middle of a wet winter in July and I recalled his comments on our first night buried beneath piles of blankets in our bed. Our home was not only lacking heat, but also insulation. Most folks get by with portable heaters plugged into wall sockets, and we soon joined the ranks. We layer in our house, at ten degrees Celsius the woolens and sheep slippers come on, at five degrees we ring the heaters around us and add a layer of Gore-Tex.

Now when some pinkie foreigner asks me about heat I snarl and say "What class of puffa-boy are you? Heat in New Zealand, did you hear that one, honey?"

***It's all the little things***: I like how when you go to the movie theatre you're assigned a seat. I love how my squash club has a bar in it. I'll take a roundabout any day over a four-way stop. I find it amazing that policemen can be so courteous and aren't required to wear shiny sunglasses. I'm forever amazed by the amount of milk a Wheat-a-bix bar can soak up, and I love reading Dick Hubbards' newsletters in each box of his cereal. I love every lump and bump in the land- scape. I like when the weatherman describes a nice day as "fine". I admit, I may never understand cricket, but I have grown fond of rugby. I love that you can't drive thirty minutes without hitting a golf course. I love how Kiwis we only just met invite us to stay at their homes. I love the green, and of course it goes without saying, I love the sheep. I love this place, this New Zealand, truly I do, and if this were America.. .then we probably wouldn't be able to afford it.

Doug Sassaman is a freelance writer and self-described humorist (who some think should be self-committed). He writes a twice-monthly e-mail column called "Life in the Cosmic-Burp" — Global humor on a galactic scale — http://CosmicBurp.com

You can email Doug at MAILTO:Doug-Sassaman@CosmicBurp.com To subscribe to the Burp, send a blank e-mail to MAILTO:CosmicBurp-Subscribe@listbot.com

MAGIC MOUNTAIN FARMSTAYS & HORSE TREKKING - Te Mata, Raglan, NZ

"Magic Mountain is perfect for couples, small groups or families with children". Magic Mountain offers comfortable self-contained accommodation, sleeping up to 8 people. Join in our daily farm activities, or simply relax amongst the tranquil surroundings, soaking up the views from your balcony.

The farm has 380 acres of rolling pastures and native bush, with sheep, cattle and pigs grazing, horses, dogs, cats and a turtle—all are tame and friendly.

Ride our beautiful horses around the farm, daylight or moonlight. You can also horse trek to Bridal Veil Falls (55 metres high). For the adventurous we offer abseiling, fishing and hunting trips (fish, pigs, rabbits, goats and possums).

For bookings call Marcus or Jan-Maree. Ph. 0-7-825 6892, Fax 0-7-825 6896. 334 Houchen Road, Te Mata, RD 1, Raglan, NZ.

When you make inquiries about and/or reservations for anything in New Zealand, if you saw it here please mention that you saw it in the KIWIphile FILE!!!

Thank you.

NEW ZEALAND "INTER NATURE" BUS TOURS

There is a new way to travel in New Zealand... on the luxurious bed and breakfast bus! This bus is different! On the outside it's a luxury 12 meter Super High Decker Motorcoach. On the inside it's the ultimate recreational vehicle, with everything required for the perfect get-away.

The "InterNature Bus" is fully fitted to sleep up to four guests. You will be served a nourishing breakfast, plus if required, lunch and dinner. They aim to provide you with the utmost in mobile comfort with the most up-to-date communications technology and the great outdoors at your fingertips!

The "InterNature" bus is the first mobile home to be certified for commercial use in New Zealand. The normal standards required for a mobile home have been well exceeded and no compromise has been made in the pursuit of safety and comfort. This is a LOT MORE than a campervan.

The interior features two well appointed bedrooms, one with a double bed and the other with two large single bunk beds. On board you will find a bathroom with shower, separate toilet and a fully equipped kitchen. For your convenience, color television, video, stereo, telephone and a computer with e-mail and internet connections are available. You can rest assured, you are traveling truly independently and luxuriously.

.All tours begin and end in the Auckland region. Prices include: Transportation, driver, on-board guide, accommodation, breakfast, e-mail facilities and the use of fishing rods, bowling balls, games, barbecue and outdoor furniture. Lunch and dinner are available at an additional charge.

Prices: Up to 2 guests is NZ$585/day (approx. US$285) for both. Extra adults are NZ$185 (approx. US$91) and extra child is NZ$85 (approx. US$42/day). With the US dollar worth almost double to the NZ dollar, this is a wonderful and inexpensive way to see "the land of the friendly Kiwi's".

Although the company is based in Auckland, their US representative is WORLD WIDE TOURS & TRAVEL, Inc., 393 W. State St., Ste B, Eagle, ID 83616. They can be reached at (208) 938-09 1 1 or toll free (888) 697-0911. Their fax is (208) 938-0913, and e-mail is wwtourtrvl@aol.com . Call World Wide Tours for brochure and suggested itineraries.

UPDATED MUSEUM (NZ Herald)

The interactive look of Auckland Museum could be the key to bringing it out of the doldrums.

Visitors to the refurbished museum have been upbeat, saying the $5 admission donation was "well worth it" as the modernised venue had lost much of its stuffiness.

Crowds of families started pouring through the doors on opening day to get their first glimpse of the $43 million revamp.

The 5-year revamp has included the addition of a new Maori natural history gallery, Te-Ao-Tu-Roa. The gallery, offering an introduction to the world of Maori and a Maori understanding of the environment, is the last of 10 galleries to be finished.

Curator of ethnology Dr. Roger Neich stated:

"In the past displays such as the Maori exhibits have been put together by European museum curators who tended to put all the paddles in one case. We felt it was important to have the Maori perspective and we used a Maori consultant.

The museum hopes the revamp will signal a turning point for their recent poor fortunes.

CABIN FEVER by Reva Byrd

Majestic, awakening Ruapehu volcano in the thermal area of New Zealand's North Island threatened to dampen our vacation. Three times in a month it smoked and burped. We were visiting New Plymouth on the west side of the island. As the crow flies, we were nearer than the half day's car trip we had to travel to reach the thermal area. We wound around the folding cleavage of the central mountain range before we headed east and north. It is almost impossible to build roads across these mountains. The ones that exist are often closed by weather or rock slides.

I was visiting Merv White, a Kiwi whom I met when he visited Virginia with the International Friendship Force. He had spoken so excitedly of the native Maoris and other aspects of New Zealand that "down under" became the object of my next trip.

Two years later Chick, a mutual friend, and I took the long trip to New Zealand. For a few days we traveled around New Plymouth. This industrial area is not a usual tourist spot. It is noted for its production of oil and dairy products. It is also the nearest point to Australia.

The next week the "Awesome Threesome" toured the South Island from Picton Ferry that connected the two islands to Fiordland on the southwest coast. Two sight and hearing challenged octogenarian men and one 100 pound 65 year old woman writer/artist are about as awesome a crew as you can find.

After two weeks Chick returned to Virginia. I stayed another fortnight to see the North Island—and to have more time with my favorite Kiwi.

Possibly the most memorable day of the trip was our visit to his ski chalet in Ohakune. Famous Ruapehu volcano was smoking and smiling deceitfully as it left cinders on the car. Never having been exposed to the horrors of an eruption, I was not unduly alarmed. Although mountain born and bred, I was more frightened by our car trip up the smoking volcano.

The narrow, stone-strewn road hung onto barren precipices that led to the ski area. I learned that skiers (smarter than we) were usually transported by helicopter to the mountain top. Since it was spring skiers had deserted the area for other parts. As the road ended we saw ski lifts hanging like skeletons from their cables. After an hour of ascending the.deserted volcano I was ready to return to "terra firma".

Kiwi had warned me we would be using sleeping bags in the chalet. I visualized us huddled together in heat-sharing closeness in our separate sleeping bags on the floor. I imagined the wind whipping up from the nearby South Pole. As imagined cold breathed from the Antarctic I shivered partly in fear and partly in anticipation.

My adventurous spirit and love of travel brushed these thoughts of primitive conditions into the back of my mind. I began to relish the idea of this little, Appalachian Mountain woman nesting in a ski chalet in New Zealand beneath a grumbling, burping volcano.

We brought food in the "chilly bin" because good eating places in Ohakune were closed during the off season for skiers.

We arrived at Ohakune, a rustic little ski village that reminded me of a movie set. Many old buildings were dated 1927, 28, 29. The small stores huddled together in one block set against a snow-capped mural.

Kiwi said, "This area is famous for its carrots." I never would have guessed it until we saw the town symbol that didn't seem to fit the landscape. A huge, orange carrot along the main road rose twelve feet into the air. The sign beside the carrot said, "Where adventure begins", a premonition of my adventures ahead. I had noticed that everything grows bigger and better in New Zealand, but this was a shock. This realistic carrot was a work of art. I imagine that Ohakunes can see quite well from living in the shadow of this orange giant.

A few blocks from the carrot we entered Turoa Alpine Village beside a golf course. I was impressed with the neighborhood! Neat little redwood chalets scattered over the Parapara.

These foothills eventually led to the snow-topped volcano, one half mile away as the crow flies. On Ruapehu a steam cloud rose threateningly from the angry bowels of Mother Earth.

The green valley is not covered with tussock, gorse or broom that is found in the South Island, but with grass and spring flowers. The volcano itself was barren, rocky and dead looking.

We stopped at a chalet that Heidi and Grandpa might have envied. Kiwi let us in with his key. I immediately had a premonition of danger. Inside the immaculate cabin the first thing we noticed was a back- pack inside the front door.

When we put our food in the refrigerator we saw fresh, perishable food that couldn't have been left there by Kiwi's family's last visit.

I hesitated to follow when Kiwi took my bags upstairs. He came down shaking his head. "Somebody's been here and is still around. There's a sleeping bag up there."

This was beginning to sound like Goldilocks and the three bears, but I don't think New Zealand has bears.

I didn't go upstairs to check, but I later found out that the upstairs was a large dormitory room with four cots with pillows and mattresses. Later Kiwi gave me a sleeping bag for my cot. He used the studio couch downstairs. There were beds, just no linens to use and wash. Very ingenious these islanders.

"Who do you think the intruder may be?" My voice trembled.

Trying to reassure me, he said a cousin had a key. Then he began to speculate on who else the intruder may be. I think he wasn't as confident as he tried to act. "Let's take a ride."

I think he wasn't sure what to do. We put our food in the fridge and rode to the New Zealand Army Museum a few miles away.

We paid half fare because it would close in forty-five minutes. We moved along quickly, each noticing what intercsted him the most. I was impressed by flags from all the wars New Zealand had participated in, from the Maori wars to Desert Storm. The Maori soldiers have a reputation for being the world's fiercest fighters, according to American G.I.'s. When I returned to the States I heard a retired colonel say, "I'm glad the Maoris were on our side."

I was curious about the Victoria Cross. Before she died, Queen Victoria crocheted seven neck scarves as a Victoria Cross symbol. A New Zealander received one of these scarves on display in the museum.

We returned to—we knew not what. I gave a sigh of relief as Kiwi opened the door of the chalet.

"Our visitor has gone," were welcome words, but I still looked around as I went into the kitchen and living areas.

Kiwi prepared a hot dinner. With all signs of our mysterious visitor gone, we settled into a discussion of tomorrow's activities. Kiwi talked about information I could add to my journal that would become a book. Darkness came fast. We retreated to our separate spaces and read awhile before laying the day's activities aside. I slept soundly without dreaming of volcanoes or mysterious intruders.

Morning woodpeckers and songbirds woke me to a sunny day—only a hint of the hot, bright days ahead in the thermal area of Rotorua. Rare as flying birds are in New Zealand, there were a few here, pecking at the worms under the moist grass and at insects in the wooden house.

I smelled coffee and knew breakfast was waiting for me downstairs. I reported the woodpeckers.

"They aren't woodpeckers. They are Two-Toothed Borers", Kiwi corrected me. Interesting name but one who pecks on wood is still a woodpecker—in Virginia!

Breakfast never tasted so good as when shared in this lovely setting with a dear friend. I wanted to stay there forever—watch the view, feed the birds, and become a marshmallow.

In Virginia cabin fever results from being snowed in or otherwise spending too much time inside during cold weather. In Okahune my cabin fever was from not enough time spent in this quiet yet exciting place. My tireless guide wanted to push on because he knew I would enjoy visiting the thermal area of Rotorua, but I will never forget the quiet mountain retreat with its mystery and solitude.

(From THE AWESOME THREESOME, as-yet-unpublished New Zealand journal by REVA BYRD, artist and freelance writer in Roanoke, Virginia, whose second love is two tiny islands down-under. REVA BYRD is a 65-year-old recent recipient of an M.A. in writing from Hollins University in Roanoke.

BOOKS

The Maverick Guide to New Zealand, 11th Ed.

The year 2000 edition of the Maverick Guide is out with updated information for planning your next visit to New Zealand, THE EXPLORER'S COUNTRY. I believe the new version will whet your appetite even more and will satisfy almost all your needs for information.

New info for all hotels, restaurants, and attractions is included, as well as ideas for exciting outdoor

activities like safari tours with native Maori guides, thermal bathing in the region's famous mineral springs, or whitewater rafting expeditions.

An entire chapter, "Who Are the New Zealanders?," presents the highlights of New Zealand history and profiles of the people.

The book is well and humorously written. It's a fun book and I wish I had the time to read every page. Readers may order from Pelican at 800-843-1724.

BLUFF — by Graham Wilson

Bluff Township is situated on the northeastern side of Bluff Hill which forms a knoll at the southern end of the Bluff Peninsula extending into Foveaux Strait, within the Invercargill City boundary. Bluff is the terminal point of State Highway No. I (Picton to Bluff), 27km south from Invercargill and 254km southwest of Dunedin. It is the port for Southland and the junction for the daily catamaran service (Foveaux Express) to Halfmoon Bay, Stewart Island, 354km to the south.

The Maori name for Bluff is Motu-pohue, Motu because of its island-like appearance from the sea, and pohue due to the white convolvulus which still flowers in the forest.

Principal industries include commercial fishing (crayfish, groper, and blue cod from the waters of Foveaux Strait), oyster dredging, and marine engineering. On the Tiwai Peninsula, on the east side of the harbour is the New Zealand Aluminium Smelter, processing alumina from Queensland, Australia, using electric power from Manipouri.

Reserves include the Bluff Scenic Reserve with the Glory Walking Track, the Foveaux Walking Track and Argyle Park. The International Signpost at Stirling Point is as far south as you can travel by road in New Zealand and a major tourist attraction.

Other attractions around the town are Fred and Myrtle Flutey's world famous Paua Shell House. (Sad news for those of you around the world that knew Myrtle—she passed away on the 9th May 2000).

from here a panoramic view of Southland's mountains, plains, estuaries and islands is revealed. Also the Island Harbour. Please come and visit them to get a feel of our town. Another fine place to visit is the Bluff Maritime Museum where there are not only the usual displays, but the fully working rebuilt engine from the Tug Awarua. Another major attraction here is the oyster boat Monica, which was fully restored and donated to the Museum by its owners and is now alongside the Museum in dry dock, so to speak.

Bluff Web Sites: there are two main ones that you can visit if you are on-line. The first one is Bluff Promotion's which can be found at http://www.bluff.co.nz. The second is my Bluff site which has plenty of history, with passenger ships and passenger lists and stories of the many shipwrecks that have happened along the south coast here. Website:

http://www.angelfire.com/ok2/cbluff/index.html

There are two main annual events that happen here in Bluff, first of which is the Stabicraft/Bluff Fishing Competition, which is held mid February. This is attended by many thousands each year and the main prize is a Stabicraft boat, outboard motor and trailer. There are many other things to do to keep the whole family happy, with rides for the kids, craft stalls along the main street, etc., and is attended each year by the very entertaining Mad Butcher (Peter Leitch) horn Auckland.

The second event is the Bluff Oyster and Seafood Festival. People come from all over to taste not only the famous Bluff Oysters, but other scrumptious delicacies from around our lovely area. Held in four large marquees set up on the Bluff Foreshore where you can dance to live music and have plenty of fun. The exact dates for these events for 2001 have not been set as yet.

(Editor: I visited Bluff in July of '98 and loved it. This was the farthest south on the globe that I had ever been—which was exciting. We had just driven through the beautiful Catlins, with a few rain showers—but in Bluff the sun was shining in a wonderful blue sky through gorgeous white clouds. I thoroughly enjoyed Bluff.)

TIMARA LODGE - Gourmet Theatre

From NEXT Magazine

The lights go up, the stage is beautifully set, the audience is abuzz with anticipation. Jeremy Jones and Sue Goulter, masterminds of a very special theatre, deliver another intense performance dripping not with words, but with sublime flavour.

The audience is challenging. Their sophisticated palates are used to the finest cuisine and wines. Yet often, Jeremy and Sue find that their American and European guests are impressed most by the exceptional freshness of the raw ingredients, evident in the flavour of the final dish.

"Yes, they have fresh fruit and vegetables all over the world, but they just don't taste as good—that's what they tell us," Jeremy explains. "You could say a typical Marlborough Sauvignon Blanc jumps out at you, and people say that about our {New Zealand} food."

Many guests seek an invitation behind the scenes to the modernised kitchen in the 1920s lodge, to watch the couple create their magic. On occasion, they will ask to dine backstage at the country kitchen table rather than in the formal dining room—and then the culinary performance is adapted to allow more interaction

Since the couple took over management of the lodge two years ago, they have consciously steered towards a distinctly New Zealand cuisine, rather than French, Indian, or Pacific Rim.

"There's nothing quite like some of the classic combinations, such as lamb, traditionally served here with, for instance, a mint-flavoured aoli," Jeremy says, "New Zealand cuisine should be about using the ingredients we have here in the simplest possible way."

The: garden-fresh flavours reflect the wider setting: the magnificent gardens of the 67-hectare estate are the personal passion of its owners—perhaps that explains why there are more garden than housekeeping staff. Coincidentally, it was Sue's great-great uncle who founded the historic arboretum and the homestead early in the century.

(Editor: Timara Lodge has a beautiful website: www.timara.co.nz)

FRIENDSHIP FORCE

If you're interested in joining the Friendship Force, an international group whose purpose is to visit other countries and thus promote world peace with understanding and friendship, the address is: 34 Peachtree, Atlanta, GA 30303.

I HOPE TO RECEIVE YOUR LETTER OR STORY FOR NEXT ISSUE!